It's like his absolute worst nightmare is coming to life.

For a very long, very drawn out moment, James simply stays where he is, one hand clutching the side of the edge of the chair until he's certain it will start to meld into the upholstery.

And then Sirius is shaking his shoulder.

"Um. Sorry, mate," he says sympathetically.

James doesn't answer.

How did that happen?

How did that not work? He'd had it all planned out in his head.

Evans would think Flourish was completely daft, a bit creepy maybe, or at the very least — completely off his rocker. There'd be tea flung in his face, cake thrown into his lap. An angry kick to the shins, maybe.

Instead, it'd all gone wrong.

So, so very wrong.

"James?" It's Remus. He pats his back. "Drinks on us tonight?"

"Yeah, mate. We've got about three bottles back at the dorms," Sirius says.

Finally, his voice feeling a bit foreign to him, James manages: "Yeah. Yeah, all right."